Not even a 4am miracle
by strawberrycheese1990
Summary: Matt wasn't lying when he said that he and Harriet could have been married but now. Find out what his biggest lie actually is and how maybe a 4am miracle just isn't enough. TRIGGERS.


**Not even a 4am miracle****. **

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own anything these are my ramblings that came to me at some ridiculous hour of the morning, and I intend no infringement. Also all the thought in here, are just part of the narrative, I don't know any comedy writers, so if any of this you feel is wrong or insulting then I apologise.

**Warnings: **Self-harm, cutting.

Harriet said that that was the biggest lie that I have ever told; that we would be married now if only we could have lasted 6 months. She thinks that was the biggest lie I ever told, but it isn't, in fact it wasn't even a lie at all. It was the truth, I mean heck I've had a ring since the first time we dated it wasn't a lie, not one bit, and it certainly wasn't the biggest lie I've ever told.

My biggest lie isn't actually a lie at all; it's more of an omission. In my mind a pretty reasonable omission at that, but it is still the one thing I haven't told her, or anyone, not even Danny.

You know the best comedy writers aren't the people how are happy all day and sing songs about rainbows, puppies and cute little bunny rabbits from dawn till dusk. No those people aren't funny, just annoying. No funny people or people who can write good comedy at least, are the complete opposite. Funny people are actually quite serious, cynical, experienced. Some may try and hide it, but it's true, all the best comedy writers all have something. The better you write the more messed up you are, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

I mean just look at Andy. He's one of the best in the business, but I can't remember the last time that he cracked a smile. He lost his wife and kids and most days can't find a reason to get out of bed, but still ever Friday he has a sketch on the air that kills the audience. He's a great comedy writer but let's face it he's also extremely messed up.

And this brings me back to the whole biggest lie I've ever told comment, Most would say I'm successful. I mean I'm the lead writer and executive producer of Studio 60 the flagship programme of the National Broadcasting System. I've written countless sketches, plays and even a couple of screenplays. I have a nice house and I drive a nice car, but like Andy I'm also extremely messed up, even more so than you imagine. I mean yes, I'm not exactly sane, I talk to myself, go off on random tangents, I obsess over the little things, I'm a perfectionist and many say a bit of an egomaniac. But really that's just skimming the surface.

Which brings me nicely as to why I am currently sitting on the roof of Studio 60 at 2o'clock on a Thursday morning; with a trail of blood running down my leg from a long thin cut in my left shin. The rich red blood, congealing and gravity pulls in down to the floor.

I'm meant to be writing the show that is on in less than 24 hours. I'm meant to be talking to the sexual harassment lawyer. But instead here I am looking out onto the LA skyline, feeling the throb of the blood pumping around my body and out the wound. The cut is deep and I know that I should be putting pressure on it. I should really be trying to stop the bleeding, as I really don't want a repeat of what happened when I was 15, but still I can't bring myself to do it. I'm enjoying the release, the control that it gives me too much to end it now.

I can't control Harriet, or who she dates, or what he does, or the fact that 2 weeks ago she told me that we were over. Heck, we weren't even together, and yet she was able to break up with me. It takes a special kind of women to be able to do that I'll tell you. I can't control the fact that I can't write, or that I can't remember the punch lines to even the world's simplest jokes. I can't control the ratings, which have dropped the last 2 shows, because of my inability to write. I can't control the fact that no happy I am for Danny and Jordan there is still a part of me that feels like he is slipping away from me. That's he's got a family now and doesn't need me for anything but writing the show, which as previously stated is tanking.

But this, this I can control – I can control how much I bleed, the size and depth of the cut that I make with my pocket knife. I can control how much pain I inflict on myself, when I don't have a say how much pain others inflict on me.

I should most likely feel ashamed about this. I should feel disgusted when I look at the scars across my body, which I used to explain away with weird anecdotes if anyone ever cared enough to ask. I used to feel like that, after I nearly died when I was 15. My parents got me 'help', in other words they didn't know what to do with me, so they sent me to a shrink, who drugged me and told me what I was doing was bad. Oh, he was a bit more supportive than that, and as much as I hate to say it, he did help a little, and I did stop, until 2 weeks ago.

Now the scars that I have both old and new, just show me that I'm still here, that I'm alive, and can feel pain; some other pain then the constant crushing in my chest. I don't want to die, I don't think so anyway. No I just want to feel. At the moment I'm numb, I know what I have to do each day but I don't get enjoyment or any emotion really, out of anything I do.

I get out of bed because I have to. I write not because I like it or that I'm good at it, but because I have to. Food I bland, but an unfortunate necessity, and Suzanna is crazy about making sure I eat. And sleep, well that's something that comes once in a blue moon.

It's why I come up here on the roof; I mean it's got its practical reasons. I mean no one has been up here since Danny and Jordan got stuck here that night. So I don't have to worry about anybody finding me, and ask me why and how they can get me to stop. But no up here is where I can be myself, not the act that I put on. I can just sit and watch the skyline, and people going about their daily lives, while I try and make mine a little bit more bearable.

As always it ends all too soon, as Danny calls wondering where I am and if I've got anything yet, and also to say that Harry is still on set and won't be with us for a couple for hours.

So I get up with a sigh, and make my way back downstairs, but with my penknife in my pocket I know that but won't be long before I am sitting on this rooftop once again. Cause not even a 4am miracle can save me now.

And to be honest, I'm not sure I want to be saved, no matter the time of day.

**An: **I hope that you enjoyed, please read and review. :)


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